Omens of the Nile
by LediShae
Summary: The people of Egypt pray with each rising sun for a terrible curse upon Pharaoh's sons to break. A prophecy from their birth tells of an idol white and red of the Dual Crown that offers their only hope of salvation. With the time before their curse is complete running out will a slave of Knossos save them before it is too late? AU, humanized, historical.
1. Omen of the Boar

**A/N:** I own nothing, not even the idea. Everything belongs to someone else, and I'm just having fun with it.

Akhetaton, capitol of Egypt, prays with each rising sun for a terrible curse upon Pharaoh's sons to break. A prophecy from their birth tells of an idol the white and red colors of the Dual Crown that offers their only hope of salvation. With the time before their curse is complete running like the sands of the Sahara, will a slave of Knossos save them before it is too late? Quasi-human-formers, AU, slight OOC, historical fantasy.

Prompted by deathmustang on lj

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Omen of the Boar

Akhetaton, city of pharaohs, capitol of Egypt, land of the living gods incarnate glowed like polished amber in the unrelenting sunlight glimmering with all the glory of the pharos. Like the buildings that housed them the people of Akhetaton glimmered with the many trappings of their wealth. Talismans of gemstones and shell, gold and silver, and hand crafted polished beads tinkled as the regal forms walked creating the audible pulse of the city. Gemstones of blue and red, green and yellow lie against skin hued the color of river mud: clay red, soil black, moist earth brown and chalk white; the peoples of Egypt as striated as the silt's of the Nile after the flood.

The jangling discord of a million talismans and trinkets filled the humid air. Their jingling matched the nearby rushing of the great Nile that dictated the lives of all of Egypt from the lowliest slave to the great God Pharaoh high in his temple palace. Sounding loudly over the jingling and rushing that was the eternal backdrop to their lives was the calls of merchants, the hammering of stonemasons and chanting of the Priests that created the harmony of the changing moods of the Gods. Despite the raucous hymnal they created disquiet lay heavy over the land like the hush of night before the Hippo strikes.

In the royal temple spiring high above the palace main the Great Royal Wife, chief wife and queen to the Pharaoh, lay in her birthing chamber surrounded by healing priests and midwives. Her wearied labor protected by her virgin maidens, the ladies in waiting and fiercely loyal body guards that protected all the wives of the pharaoh who stood fiercely just inside her chamber and outside her door.

On this day, one that should be joyous the pharaoh, ruler of all Lower and Upper Egypt, brooded in the temple sanctuary. Here, within the shady inner sanctum a viewing pool rippled with the erratic drifting of the sacred fish colored red and white of the Double Crown that sat proudly upon Pharaoh's brow. Mesmerized as ever by their fluid motions he let his mind follow the many portends that had brought his chief wife to her current state.

Signs and portends ruled the lives of all in Egypt. Charms of the hippo, crocodile, boar and turtle warded off their evil. Figures of the Gods gave the wearer their protection, or their strength. These portends ruled all from the lowliest man of slave birth to the God Pharaoh high in the palace. The expectant jackal-headed queen in her sunlit chamber was no exception. Despite the imminent birth of the twins she carried within her swollen womb the pharaoh could only count the evil portends that hung heavily over their unborn heads.

No one had feared for the Great Royal Wife when the healers announced her expectant state. The kingdoms had rejoiced, and doubly so when news came she carried twins. All hoped for the twins to be brother and sister destined by the Gods' will to become pharaoh and his sister-wife, much as Osiris and his twin sister-wife Isis had been, two beings borne from one destined to be one in life until death.

Their excitement for the coming births had grown with each rising sun as her body had swelled as the Nile in flood. Prayers rose in the temples and incense burned richly late into the night as all prepared in jubilant anticipation for the Queen's delivery. Then the buzzards, portends of impending slaughter, began to circle the empty, waiting nursery. Their dark ever present forms had cast a pall across all of Egypt.

Circling buzzards bespoke of death and slaughter to come. Those circling defilers of the dead had chosen the nursery of the royal palace as their prophesied location of impending destruction. The priests had dismissed the queen's concerns, after all by the buzzards' very appearance the slaughter was destined to take place within the week and the queen still had a whole month before her children were to be born. That had been one week ago, one week to the hour and by their portend the twins would arrive before the hour of Ra. Overhead a cry of pain from the birthing room rang through the palace, the buzzards' portend was coming true.

The eagle, the lady of victory had cried her fierce challenge to the Gods just that morning over the Queen. A sign of victory, of the pups she carried becoming the next great Pharaoh and his sister-wife. Such a pairing as twins, initially one being within the womb rejoined once more as wedded husband and wife, rulers of both kingdoms would be fortuitous indeed.

Yet ere before the fading of the eagle's cry from the cloudless heavens the winged goddess had been dashed upon the ground. A great horned raven sent by the dark Gods had knocked her from the skies and sounded his terrible croak directly over the expecting queen, just as the eagle had been dashed upon the ground, splattering the queen with her still warm blood. Such portends of evil and death had forced the queen into early labor, buzzards ever circling the nursery and leaving all of Akhetaton lost within their terrible pall.

The pharaoh focused once more upon the fish swimming in the viewing pool, his eyes momentarily meeting the fierce amber eyes of his reflection. The somber jackal in the reflection had short fur of Nile blue, his high, pointed ears and long snout showed his pure lineage descending from Anubis at the beginning of the Jackal-God dynasty one hundred dry seasons ago. He sighed, letting his wandering mind focus once more on the motions of the lazy fish beneath his reflection. Both swam, encircling one another agitatedly as if sensing the turmoil growing within the Pharaoh's chest.

Suddenly, the palace erupted in yells and wailing cries that destroyed the midday calm. Grimly, the pharaoh rose, heading to the birthing chamber to see the form the buzzards' prophecy had taken. For, as all children of Akhetaton knew, all foretold by the Gods was destined to come true. He rounded the turn of the corridor with only the clicking of his ebony claws on stone reaching his ears and passed the guardian maidens from the mortal city beyond all having skin the colors of earthen clay and black wigs woven from the hair of the ox and ass. He passed unchallenged and nodded to others within, these maidens were the daughters of earlier dynasties all having the heads and features of the osprey, hawk, ibis, camel and cat.

He looked to the bustling priests and midwives finally spotting his beloved sister-wife lying in relaxed glory, resting easily with her newborns lying flat against her chest like the basking crocodile worshiping the new born sun as they suckled. He looked closely at his infants their delicate skin seemed to glow in the diffused sunlight reaching through the windows. They were identical, small bodies perfectly formed, tiny replicas of him and his chief wife, only one would eventually be the red of the sun disk and the other the vibrant yellow of the Nile lily. Their miniature frames were perfect, as were their softly wrinkled muzzles, tiny ebony claws and sharply pointed ears.

"They are both males, my pharoh." The queen's strong, but tired voice rose from where she lay, "They cannot be as husband and wife."

"That matters not," the pharaoh replied as he turned to his chief priest standing at the queen's bed side. "What do the signs portend, Mirage?"

"My pharaoh," The priest bowed his crimson osprey head low over his bare skinned, blue chest, "They were born under the sign of the boar." He leaned in closer, "They will suffer the Fury of the Red Sands."

Worried, and saddened, Pharaoh bowed his head. The boar, cast by the Gods as evil incarnate, had sent its mindless rage to infect his newborn sons. Like the angered breath of the Gods casting the burning sands into a wall of death they would bring only destruction in their wake.

"They will suffer onto others the wrath of Seth unto Osiris, and all in their path shall be rent into fourteen sections and cast to the corners of Egypt." Mirage spoke gently, beak clicking in his distress to bring such news to his pharaoh.

Pharaoh knew the litany, how Seth, jealous of his brother had killed him once, then twice and cast him to the furthest reaches of the kingdoms. "How long?" Pharaoh finally asked, looking somberly at his chief wife and holding her proud, fierce wolf-like gaze.

The priest looked beyond the birthing chamber window out onto the swollen Nile. "Egypt welcomes her newest sons with high waters and time of plenty. Eighteen times shall they be greeted thus until the boar's rage turns them upon each other and they become the destruction of the breath of the gods scouring the land." Mirage looked to bone chips, feathers and gemstones scattered across a small table nearby. His divining tools were studied and bypassed as the priest moved to the window pulling an intricately carved ironwood and ivory star reader from his simple robes and read the position of the sun in the sky and the depth of the Nile. "The signs speak of only one means of salvation. Be it for one or both I know not. Find the hare, ivory white of the hippo tusk and red of the cornelian stone."

Pharaoh nodded, he understood. His sons would have all the talismans of the swift and keen dune runner with its shape protecting them. Maybe they too, like the swift desert hare, could outrun their prophesized fates.

Upon the raised pallet the chief wife looked up at him, delicate pink hand outstretched imploringly. "We can do nothing for now, my husband. Come, sit with me and welcome your new sons, Optimus."

"As you command, Elita," He knelt by her bed and smiled upon her and their sons. Within his chest his heart was heavy with the tumultuous thoughts that bore heavily upon him. These were his first-born sons, the heirs to his throne and only another child born of Elita's womb would be suitable to inherit. Only time and the will of the Gods' would tell if his sons were to be slaughtered – or spared.

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A/N: I am calling this historical fantasy. Primarily because I'm mixing timelines that were thousands of years apart in reality.

Yes, they are humanized, I hope my descriptions got that across accurately enough. Leave a review if you have any questions or comments. Thanks!


	2. By Poseidon's Will

**A/N: **This was prompted by deathmustang over on LJ. All recognizable characters belong to Hasbro.

Warnings: Mentions of death.

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"Irnicleas," The woman working the intricate loom turned her dusky skin and dark hazel eyes alighting on her beloved husband. She smiled lovingly at him, seeing him as few others did.

"Good hunting?" She levered herself up from her loom, leaving the still in process baby blanket unfinished. Hands upon her swollen belly she approached her husband, kissing him lightly as she took the fresh deer from his work worn hands.

"Good enough," He smiled, dark doe brown eyes watching her lovingly as she moved. Irnicleas smiled as she skinned the animal, thanking Athena for her husband's good fortune. "Jack?" She looked over at her husband, a descendent of the earth-bound Gods given the form of the wild hill hares to show his divinity. "Your brother is worried for our child."

"About what?" Jack asked worriedly, strong hands covered in a light brush of white fur embracing her waist cautiously, one hand lying warmly over her bulging stomach. "I did not know he had returned from Athens."

"He came by earlier, he said our child was troubled within the womb, and that signs from the Gods bespoke of death, not birth."

"Then I will travel to the temple of Zeus and Artemis tomorrow. I will leave old Celias and one of the younger goats as offering." He smiled bravely down at her, holding her gaze unflinchingly with his own.

"So many? Jack, we have but six goats and Celias is our best milk goat." Irnicleas frowned, hand unconsciously rubbing the side of her stomach.

"I would give the Gods everything, throw myself to the sirens and offer my bones to Hades himself if it would ensure you and our child were safe."

"I am with child Wheeljack!" Irnicleas giggled, "I'm not going off to fight Troy, or face the Cyclops."

"Let me worry," Jack smiled, "Or would you rather I become bored and make amber explode once more?"

"No! Not again, Ratchet may think your eccentricities are normal but I will not have my jewelry becoming missiles to earn Zeus' wrath for _your_ insatiable curiosity." She laughed heartily. The couple attended their chores until darkness fell, each toiling within their home well into night and sought their shared bed.

"I am so sorry," Ratchet groaned in agony as he let his head fall into his hands, cradling his face as tears fell freely.

"The Gods' will be done." Wheeljack rasped as he held the tiny bundle to his chest weeping silently for what had been given and that which the Gods had taken. Numb he could only focus on the cold hand he still held wishing it had been him lying in the ruined marriage bed soaked with blood.

"Come, both of you, let us do our work." Strong hands pulled the brothers from Irnecleas' pale corpse, forcing them into the brilliant sunlight beyond. The women of the village attended the body bathing her pale skin and placing fragrant oils in her hair. Tonight Irnecleas would be burned upon her funeral pyre attended by her new son, husband and beloved brother-in-law.

"Look, Perceptor, this is your home. This, is Petra." Wheeljack spoke hoarsely but with pride as he unwrapped the tiny coral colored infant in his hands, holding up the nude child to the sun and the sky letting the new born witness the vast beauty of the scrub-clothed rolling hills and distant glimmering sea that made up the southern shore of Hellias.

"Your son is healthy, and beautiful." Ratchet stroked his thumb lovingly over the baby's satiny cheek still damp from birth. "I am so sorry I could not save her." Ratchet withdrew his hand from Perceptor's face, looking at the natural red fur on his hands still stained a dark maroon-ish hue from Irneclea's lifeblood and birth fluids as her life was traded for Perceptor's.

Wheeljack scowled as he wrapped Perceptor snugly in his blanket, the one Irnecleas wove on her loom for him. He turned on Ratchet, son cradled in one hand, the other grabbing Ratchet's long ears just above the jade ornament he wore about their base. "Did you choose not to save my wife?"

"Of course not, but there must have been something I could have done!" Ratchet cried dark doe eyes fleck with crimson and gold that made him appear wild with the spirit of Ares burning in his gaze.

"Did you give Irneclease a potion to make her bleed out in birth? Did you stop her breath and still her heart?" Jack demanded, shaking his brother by the ears fiercly.

"No! I did everything I could." Ratchet looked up to his younger half-brother's gaze, breath stilling at the calm grief that shone from his brother's eyes.

"Then it was the will of the Gods. Blame Athena for taking my offering, Artemis and not guarding my wife. Blame Somnos for closing her eyes and Thantanos for stilling her heart. Blame Hades for taking her soul to the underworld but never, _ever_ blame yourself. I lost my wife today, but _you_ gave me my son, alive. The midwife declared him to be stillborn within the womb. _You_ brought him forth breathing, and for that I will thank the Gods for the rest of my life."

What strength Ratchet had as he tried to be strong for his brother left him at the stern forgiveness he was given and he sank to his knees, tears of grief for the loss of his beloved sister-in-law finally being loosed. Regardless of his brother's words he still blamed himself. The seed of the descendents of the Olympians was known to be too strong for the mortal womb. He should have forbade a child from their union, or given Irnecleas a potion to keep her from conceiving such a child. Then she would still live, but if he had, the tiny floppy eared infant would not now lie in his brother's arms.

He looked to Wheeljack, watching his brother transform in the span of a heartbeat from the absent-minded daydreaming thinker to this strong, father already willing to give everything for his child. "Then I will thank them for allowing me to do so." Ratchet rasped thickly, eyes misting as the tears finally fell for the life he failed to save.

* * *

"Perceptor!" Wheeljack summoned, calling his inquisitive son away from the bustling market square and hostile, staring faces of foreigners. The sea port of Kommos welcomed travelers from across Helios, Macedonia, Rhodes and Thrace, but Wheeljack Ratchet and Perceptor were the rarely witnessed descendents of the Gods, and few men trusted the images of walking beasts.

The men of the various ships stared and made signs of warding as the god-descended trio passed. All three spoke the flowing speech of the Athenians and all bore the appearance of the hare. Tall, they walked on paws that showed sharp claws with each step over the flat sole of the common sandals they wore strapped over their paws. Ratchet, the white hare with red hands wore the low cut kilt and prominent cod piece favored by the men of Minoa. Wheeljack, equally white with tufts of fur upon his chest colored turquoise blue and jasper green wore the long loose robes of Athens. Perceptor just wore the short kilt of the Spartans, Wheeljack's mother's people as he ran about innocently ignoring the strange men who bore neither fangs nor claws nor fur or feathers, but the simple skin of mortal birth.

"Father?" Perceptor finally ceased his explorations and walked between Wheeljack and Ratchet, "Did mother look like them?" He asked, twitching an ear towards the men gleaming sweat and stinking of hard work and the sea that worked the docks.

"Yes, she was mortal, and as beautiful as any graced by Aphrodite." Wheeljack smiled down at his son proudly, firm hand ruffling the too long, floppy ears that had yet to stiffen making his son resemble the floppy bunnies no God had ever taken the form of.

"Why are we here?" Ratchet finally asked suspiciously, "Kommos is a fine port, but _why_ a sea port at all? We could have viewed the trade ports of Helios, or Rhodes or even Heraklion to the north if you were so desperate to see the land of Minos."

"Well, I've heard that this area is much beloved by Posidon, and I have yet to venerate him for my great blessing." Wheeljack replied with a sad smile.

"It has been six years, brother, you have offered thanks to all of Olympus. Must we keep seeking each temple and shrine?" Ratchet sighed already knowing he would be making his own offering to the god of the sea.

"None interfered with your efforts, and Perceptor is alive. That is enough to garner my gratitude." Wheeljack replied.

Perceptor looked from father to uncle and knew he had caused this trip. The day of his birth had been the day he had murdered his mother. That was why he was the red of the blood coral that came from the sea and held no reminders of his mother. Surely the Gods would have given him her face or figure to keep her memory after her death. Instead he looked just like his father save for his mother's eyes banded with the hues of malachite.

While they walked, listening to the sea Ratchet and Wheeljack spoke of the future and their ever continuing wandering since they had burned down the house Wheeljack had built for Irnicleas when she had consented to be his wife. The stench of blood had never left their home, the echoes of her screams as life left her form had remained in the rafters resounding day and night of her tortured birthing. With the rising flames the burning home had sighed, as if her tortured soul finally found peace in its ashes.

"We could live here." Percy suggested, nodding to the proud men of Knossos with their short kilts that displayed their strong legs and narrow waists. Despite being mere mortals they were nearly as impressive as his uncle Ratchet.

"You would be made to fight for Knossos the moment an enemy arose. Come your twelfth birthday you will be man enough to be a soldier of Crete. Is this what you wish?" Ratchet asked evenly.

Percy's eyes widened in horror as he shook his head emphatically, his wildly swinging ears eliciting snickers from the men on the boats and the docks but he didn't care. He hated fighting, real fighting with swords and javelins. He loved wrestling like his father and uncle but he would always refuse the weapons of war.

Behind them the voices of the men swiftly rose. Shouts and screams in a dozen languages rent the air as the earth hued figures raced from their boats and the sea. Wheeljack turned looking to find the source of the commotion. A niggling fear of a great wave sent from Posidon to steal away his son filled his heart, but the truth stopped it cold. High on the seas with arrows blackening the skies pirates amassed towards the port and the treasure trove of trade goods and slaves sitting on the docks for their taking.

"Run!" Ratchet bellowed forcing his brother and nephew before him. They turned from the docks to race to the nearby safety of the hills and found themselves hemmed in by a rain of arrows blanketing the land between them and safety in death. The amassing barricades of night black arrows kept them from running into the safety of the scrub covered hills.

Ratchet spun facing the disembarking pirates holding up his short eating dagger as his only defense. Behind him Wheeljack pulled his sword and Perceptor pulled his own small dagger, the three standing strong before the approaching pirates as the many sailors and dockworkers huddled upon the sand few brave ones pulling weapons to face the pirate horde.

"Pirate slavers," Ratchet murmured over his shoulder, staring the oncoming men down. "If we fight, they will kill us. If we don't we will never again be free."

"Then we fight," Perceptor replied fearfully, small hand holding his tiny dagger. "Becoming a slave will not honor my mother."

"No, it won't" Wheeljack sighed and hit his son hard on the back of the head knocking him out cold, "But it would only increase her agony in the land of Hades if she learnt of your demise." Wheeljack tossed his weapon aside, slinging Perceptor under his robes and hunching his shoulders like an old man. "I will not stop you from fighting, brother, but I swore on her death bed to save Perceptor."

"So you did," Ratchet sighed, hiding his dagger and falling to his knees in surrender hands held empty and wide, "And so did I."

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**A/N:** This section borrows heavily from a mid nineties version of the Odyssey. I lost the VHS and I can't find exactly which one but it had almost the exact same scene of Odysseus delivering his wife's child and holding him up to the sun to see his home. I always loved that scene and just had to add it.


	3. Omen of the Hippo

**A/N: **This was prompted by deathmustang over on lj.

Warnings: violence, slavery

**Nokkonen**: Thank you for reviewing and pointing out my errors. I hope this reads better. Thanks!

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Sixteen times had the floods swollen the Nile. Sixteen times came the scorching dry season to bring forth the hippo and crocodile. Today, the princes' birth day, marked the last two years before the curse took their lives. Optimus prayed with the rising sun disk as he had since their birth for the blessing of the Gods to save their lives. Yet the prayers went unheard. Despite the many thousands of ivory and carnelian talismans the princes now possessed the carved hares had not provided any respite from the prophesy.

The twin brothers once had been so close, best friends and sparring-mates when they were young and the curse was but a dark cloud in the distant future. Now, hate festered between them, and all attempts to channel their ever present rage failed.

With the sun disk of Amun-Re finally in the sky Optimus left his palace moving with swift strides across the complex to the small barracks the royal guards were housed in. There, before the low mud clay dwellings guards and nobles practiced the arts of war. Chariots raced across the baking sands pulled by camel and oxen. Archers and swordsmen practiced their trade while nobles nearby performed the artistic blade dances suiting their stations. Among the soldiers training as Egypt's prized sons, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker battled with the guards.

"The sons of Pharaoh grow strong, my King. Sunstreaker has no fear in his breast. Sideswipe is cunning as the fennec. They fought well in Mesopotomia, your lands now reach to Hazor above Jerusalem." The Aquerhu* headed descendent of Seth praised.

"This is known, Kup" Optimus sighed, choosing to watch his sons practice with spear and sword rather than look at his best general. The aquerhu had long vanished from the desert their massive forms no longer hunted the people of Egypt, but once in the time of the Gods it ran rampant through the verdant lands that now held only the shifting red sands. They had eaten the flesh of man and beast rising from the underworld to feast upon the living.

Kup was one of the last. The reign of Seth's** descendents had dwindled long ago. Now, the aged general trained the best soldiers of Egypt. His praise was rarely given and never lightly. Optimus sighed as he watched his sons knowing soon the curse would manifest as it had each year on this day.

On the practice fields before them Sideswipe faced off against the jasper green guard, Springer while Sunstreaker faced down the similarly wolf headed Ironhide colored the hue of moist red clay. The guards were descended of Wepwawet, the scout-god of the heavens that seeks the path to Egypt's continued glory. And, like the wolf that hunts the deserts Ironhide and Springer were loyal, fierce and unrelenting; unquestionably the best in Egypt. Yet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe seemed to dance around them this day. The brothers were agile and swift getting bruising hits on their opponents with ease.

Red and yellow the brothers shifted and flowed their bodies moving like dancers their weapons acting as part of themselves. Their sparring continued fluid and graceful as they continually moved faster seeming each to be in several places at once around their beleaguered sparring opponents. Tensing, Kup moved to call off the match when blackness descended.

Ironhide and Sunstreaker separated but twenty cubits from Sideswipe and Springer were enveloped in the annual haze of blackness. Silence reigned over the field as all stared at the ever darkening blackness. Optimus closed his eyes, praying to the Gods his sons and guards would be returned unharmed only to snap his eyes open once more as screams echoed across the field.

From the consuming darkness hovering upon the field strode Sunstreaker and Sideswipe with eyes glowing baleful red. Mindless as the sandstorm the brothers slaughtered all of mortal birth upon the field turning the sands into crimson mud. Springer and Ironhide rushed to them seeking to cease the slaughter only to be flung like the scattered droppings of the hippo to land at Optimus' feet.

Optimus closed his eyes tightly breathing in the stench of fear and death as he raised his arms high pulling the powers of Anubis that flowed through his veins to bend the land of Egypt to his will. Strong winds buffeted the rampaging twins backwards from the fleeing mortals while the bloody sand molded itself around their bodies clamping down on the red and gold figures like roughly hewn sarcophagi.

As he exhaled Optimus pushed the bloody moisture from the binding sand turning the fresh mud into rigid clay stronger than the bronze and gold weapons they bore. Finally pinned the brothers could only howl and rage sounding like the hounds they so resembled baying after deer on the hunt. Optimus finally lowered his arms, releasing the taxing powers his ascension to the thrown had endowed him with and sighed wearily.

"Last year many were injured when the curse revealed itself." Optimus rumbled unhappily, "Now fifty men are dead. My sons must be banished beyond the lands of Kush. Next time it will only be worse."

Silent and brooding Kup ordered the god-descended guards to gather the remains of their fallen brothers, lying the pieces for burial out in the desert sands. Optimus remained with his sons, standing nearby as the Fury of the Red Sands slowly left them. Eyes drained of their red color looking out once more with tired, jaded striated amber hues.

"Father?" The brothers asked in unison, seeming to once more be the little boys who had clambored onto his lap when they were small and innocent.

"My sons," Optimus rumbled, voice warm and soothing still despite the bitter anger they held for their impotent sire. "You are safe now, and Egypt is once more safe from the curse."

"What did we do?" Sideswipe demanded, frantically wriggling within his confines to be free.

"The curse made you mad with rage. Fifty mortal soldiers are dead."

"Only fifty?" Sunstreaker asked blandly, face impassive but the trembling of his lips and growing moisture brimming in his eyes gave lie to his seeming cruelty.

"Yes, fifty. When I release you, you will return to your quarters. The children of Egypt must morn their dead." Optimus flicked his wrist as if absently shooing a mosquito from his hand and cast the hardened clay from his sons' frames, "Go."

Wordless and brooding the twins stood tall, striding proudly through the palace complex to the small warren of interconnected rooms they called their own. A small room appointed with cushions and several scribes at the ready made their study that led into a split corridor that terminated in separate sleeping and bathing rooms. Each shooed out their scribes, slaves and servants shutting all doors and windows to their private sanctums – and screamed. The shattered silence of their austere rooms witnessed the proud princes breaking down knowing the fate of the men they had slaughtered was not far from becoming their own.

* * *

"It has gotten much worse." Optimus sighed sitting at Elita's side within their throne room. Alone in the silent chamber they had time before the duties of state demanded their attention.

"Moonracer told me. She was watching for the darkness this time. She is weeping with the other wives." Elita replied scornfully of the lesser wives and concubines kept by the Pharaoh in his harem. The women ranging from the lofty, god-descended daughters of past dynasties to the lowborn mortal daughters of lesser lords of Egypt were weak and timid. Even when allowed they rarely strayed from the cosseted confines of their bower.

"Do not judge them harshly, my love. They were never the brave war-lady you are." He caressed the side of her face tenderly, "My wives serve their duties as my Great Wife serves her own."

"Perhaps," Elita replied bitterly, thinking longingly of the slight swell in Moonracer's abdomen, how the youngest of Pharo's six wives glowed with new life growing within her. How the young goddess-born held the blessing Elita desperately longed for. "She also spoke of your plans to banish our sons."

Optimus froze at Elita's dark tone, self-preserving fear tingling along his spine. "In three seasons they have grown from being able to be controlled by their guards to having the strength of the violent hippo bull."

"And should they perish on this 'banishment'?" Elita demanded, "They are our only sons! Without grown heirs Egypt is in constant peril. There are barbarians across the Red Sands, pirates thrive beyond the delta and in the Sea of Punt. When one of them takes your life, who will protect Egypt?"

"I do not know. The great King of Osiris' get secured peace with Byblos and protection from Akkadia and Assyria. Our ally and our trade partners keep Egypt strong. She will protect her sons."

"Then you agree, _our_ sons will not leave Egypt when the curse is upon them. They shall be taken to Faiyum and placed with the Imohag. Their gods may withstand the curse upon our sons." Elita decreed, daring Optimus to contradict her with arch narrowed eyes.

"And you do not believe they may perish by barbarians in Faiyum?" Optimus asked sadly, "Six attacks upon the waters there have been repelled since harvest."

Elita sighed, eyes glittering with tears she would never shed, "Then a miracle must be found before we lose our sons, and the Anubis Dynasty." She bowed her head, "As no solution shall come from my barren womb."

"Hush," Optimus soothed, holding her hand in the only display of affection he dared show in the open throne room. "We will find our miracle and bring Egypt continued greatness." It was a promise only Pharaoh could make an oath to cure their sons, her inability to carry a child since their births and to keep the Two Lands strong. As the living God only he held such power his oath was the oath of all the Gods of the heavens, earth and the underworld below.

* * *

"I think my fingers shall fall off." Wheeljack groaned in exhaustion when the slave vessel finally ground to a halt in whatever port they called their destination. "Two weeks surviving on watery millet and gruel shackled to the long benches across this pirate's vessel has worn us down, brother." The hunched, god-born hare of Spartan mother and Athenian father spoke lowly but true. Their arms long since burning beyond the point of agony could only tremble while the thick calloused pads of their animal-like hands slowly bled from broken blisters and open wounds.

Ratchet only glared lethally at their captors, willing the strange men of the sea to be taken by Poseidon to feed the Kraken or drug back across the sea to Aetokremnos, land of the Cyclops to be eaten as the brave men of Odysseus were by Polyphemus. Only the dark skinned men with eyes of amber continued to yell in their strange language as they scaled the rigging on their intimidating vessel. They hurried to tie down sails and moor the vessel before removing the slaves for market.

Wheeljack looked to his brother when the sound of wood splintering sounded over their captor's movements. Jack shuddered watching as flecks of wood poured from Ratchet's mouth in trickles of blood as he gnawed fiercely upon the bit keeping him mute and his teeth safely from damaging the hands of their captors further. Several still had their hands wrapped from his teeth, chunks of skin and flesh missing to the enraged god-born hare as he struggled, pulling all attention onto his muscular, compact form from that of his brother, keeping the sheltered figure of Perceptor safe from their greedy eyes. The beatings Ratchet took before the pirates could force him onto the oar were worth ensuring none noticed young Perceptor hidden under Wheeljack's robes filching food and water whenever night fell and the crew dozed on the ropes above.

"They say we are in _Aegyptos_ to be sold in _Rhakotis_." Perceptor mumbled from under the thin covering of his father's robes. "Wherever _that_ is."

"Hush, my son," Wheeljack shushed softly, "We are not safe yet we must disembark yet and be presented for sale. Only when we have entered the auction stockade may you come from my shoulders and hide at our feet." The three stilled on their bench Perceptor hidden upon his father's shoulders beneath the thin robes while Ratchet and Wheeljack sat chained to the bench and oar forced to transport themselves south across the vast _Mesogieos_ south of the Aegean Sea.

Despite their silent prayers to the Gods wishing for the pirate crew to be slaughtered for the capture of their small family the god-born hares were freed from their seats with slaves from across the vast middle sea of _Mesogieos_ to the sweltering land they had come to.

"By Hera," Wheeljack breathed once the sun blindness left his eyes, "We are in the fabled Two Kingdoms of the Black Lands." Forced with the others they crossed the proud docks from their captors' vessel staggering weakly in the oppressive heat as they were forced through the straggling tents of merchants and craftsmen, past stands of beasts for sale and slaughter, until they finally reached a massive stone walled stockade filled with the barbarians of the world for sale like common sheep and goats. Beyond the stockade the land stretched on splitting into shifting red sands that bordered the fertile black soil that bounded an oncoming river rich with small shallow keeled vessels plying goods upstream.

Wheeljack flinched when the sound of wood shattering sounded loudly beside him, wide eyed he stared as Ratchet spat out the broken remains of his bit, bloody spittle and froth flecking the pinkish edges of his lips casting a hue of madness across his white face. Dark doe eyes now shone like polished gems in the relentless sunlight flecks of crimson and gold danced in their depths as if imbued with the sparks of Hephaestus' forge high in Olympus.

"What godless place is this that the river runs north and men bear the heads of beasts like the fallen Asterion turned minotaur?" Ratchet finally demanded softly, hair along the back of his neck standing up at the sight of innumerable men and women dressed in strange garb all brightly hued as the flowers and bearing the heads of beasts familiar and unknown.

"I can see their words, father," Perceptor spoke from his hiding place, eyes glowing he took in the strange tongue of the man-beasts making it his own. Malachite hued eyes still glowing unnaturally Perceptor captured his uncle's gaze, giving the foreign tongue to Ratchet who clasped his brother's hand in his own allowing the gift to be shared. As Perceptor's eyes blinked unsteadily, the strange light leaving them the words of those around them transformed no longer a mass of alien sounds but now understood as if it were their own.

"Get the slaves into the stockade!" The captain of their captors drove the slave line into the towering mud brick structure. Curses and cries filled the air, and instantly Ratchet found himself longing for his prior ignorance.

As the first words to be understood since their capture rang in their ears Ratchet and Wheeljack were hauled at the end of their line into the cool shade of the stockade's processing entrance. Before them slaves were stripped naked, covered with white powder whose scent stung the nose and checked by healers for illnesses making them unsuited for sale. Mortal men had their heads shaved, then forced into the scorching daylight beyond with only their shackled hands to cover their modesty.

Wheeljack tensed, suddenly realizing his plan would not work. It was too late, the entrance leading into this shady haven from the sun had been sealed with heavy timbers. The only escape lay in going forward and that guaranteed Perceptor becoming a slave to be sold independently and never seen again.

Ratchet watched the swift movements of the clerks and scribes ahead, noticed the heavy rings in their chains being looped over standing bronze posts to keep the slaves in place. Two men remained before them until it was their turn to come before the scrutiny of their temporary holders and slowly Ratchet knew how to escape. He grasped his brother's hand squeezing twice then thrice then twice more again, their silent signal to follow the leader made up when they had come to their father from separate mothers of different lands, created when two boys knew not the other's language but still only had each other as friends.

Nodding Wheeljack loosened his muscles slightly letting Ratchet take the lead. His older brother had grown on Crete raised as one of the beautiful men of the labyrinth fearless and wily. The two slaves before them were brought up to the clerks, drug struggling but unable to break the binding shackles and chains. Only when the loop of metal linking Wheeljack to the mortal before him was placed over the standing rod did Ratchet move. He signaled his brother to run causing the chain to be pulled tight then grasped a heavy beating rod from a guard and brought it down heavily upon the taunt link shattering it.

Free, the brothers ran racing through the short corridor from processing to the stockade leapt over the line of guards and crossed the dense field of human chattel to leap mightily over the high stockade walls. Landing lightly they turned towards the nearby river bolting through crowds and screaming women. Animals panicked as guards chased them across the chaotic market until at last, the hares reached the river's edge and leapt for the safety of the water – Only to land in a waiting net just below the rippling surface. Falling into its weighted clutches they were instantly trapped and hauled up struggling like writhing river eels seeking escape.

Cursing as they were brought up coated with unknown black muck and reeking of decay Ratchet and Wheeljack wriggled and writhed until they could free Perceptor of his linen confines ensuring he would not be harmed when they were finally set down. Their efforts complete they stilled looking through the thick weave of the net they watched as two wolf-men and a cat-man approached, all glaring balefully at them in silence.

* * *

* Aquerhu - this is a completely made up word.

** Egyptian images of Seth show an animal that no one has been able to clearly define. Suggestions range from a camel to a dog and any number of possibilities. The suggestion I liked the best was of the aardvark. To my knowledge there has never been a gigantic carnivorous aardvark, but it looks good on paper. ^.^


End file.
